


Super overs, man.

by j_obsessed



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: Because this happened and I know it, Ben being amazing, Canon Compliant, Eoin's brilliance, Fluff, Joe's magnificence, Jos being amazing, Kissing, M/M, Super Overs, suspense?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_obsessed/pseuds/j_obsessed
Summary: Moments like this don't come around too often. So when they do, you hold onto them with both hands. Jos does that.
Relationships: Ben Stokes/Eoin Morgan, Jos Buttler & Ben Stokes, Jos Buttler & Jonny Bairstow, Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Comments: 13
Kudos: 12





	Super overs, man.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cricket_crazy28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cricket_crazy28/gifts).



> NINETEEN DAYS AGO. 19. My dear @Cricket_crazy28 asked me for this fic.   
> I hope that I haven't disappointed you. I want to add a second chapter with all the ships, and all the team bonding and loveliness that definitely happened afterwards, but, I have made you wait too long already. I hope you enjoy this my love <3

Everyone says, there is always that one moment in your life that you will never be able to forget. That you’ll never be able to recreate. And that you’ll never be able to experience again. One moment which is just so rare, so magnificent, so show-stopping, that, there’s nothing that could ever compare.

This day, this moment, this is the one. Right now. This is it. This is _the one._ Jos will never, ever be able to recreate this. Not in his dreams, not in his fantasies, not even in the afterlife.

Nothing compares. Nothing could ever come close. Not in a million fucking years, will he feel this way again. He holds onto it with both hands.

One clutching the trophy, and the other holding long slender fingers that fit perfectly with his.

\--

When Jos is caught in the deep by Tim Southee, he feels everything in his body break. He walks off the field and clutches onto his boyfriend, caught in a nasty mix of panic, disappointment, anger and anxiety. Joe holds Jos against his chest as they watch Stokesy battle against the New Zealand bowlers. Joe’s hand flits to Jos’ chest momentarily, before the keeper’s hand closes around it and presses it flat over his heart, grounding them both.

46 from 32.

39 from 24.

22 from 10.

Two from one.

Super over.

“Oh my fucking god.”

 _Okay, okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. That’s_ what Jos tells him with his eyes. Joe believes him.

Eoin glances at Jos immediately and tells him to get geared. The moment the command rings through the air, there’s a determination, that Joe has never seen before, that makes its way into Jos’ eyes. A pure, stubborn _desire,_ a sort of resolve. Joe knows that it’s because Jos’ wicket came right when they thought they had a chance to win. He knows his boyfriend blames himself. But now that he’s been given an opportunity, Jos is going to win this. Undoubtedly. He watches his boyfriend put his gear back on, stand in front of one of the mirrors in the changeroom, and stare back at himself. Blue eyes narrowing sharply into focused pupils. Almost like a professional assassin, marking their kill through a scope. _So not the time, but Joe has to fan himself, because, whew._

Ben walks in and drops his bat to the floor, swallowing harshly, almost in tears, and turns to leave the room, before Morgan throws himself at the all-rounder.

“Babe, _babe_ you have to listen, you and Jos, I’m sending you and Jos out again.”

“Eoin you can’t do that, you’ve got to send Jase, my head’s not clear enough, I’m going to fuck it up, I can’t risk that Eoin, they can do it, I just can’t be-”

“We need a left-hand-right-hand combination Ben. The boundary is too small, and Jase hasn’t batted in the last two hours.”

“Eoin _please,_ please listen to me, you _have_ to send Jase, I can’t do this, I’m annoyed at myself, and I’m so, _so angry with myself_. If I had just-”

Morgan shoots a desperate look around the changeroom. Joe opens his mouth to say something placatory, but he can’t find the right words to say. What does someone say in this situation? 

“If I had just done a little more, anything more, just one run more-”

“Ben.” An eerily calm, steel voice jolts Ben from his rambling. Jos walks up to the taller ginger and wraps a hand around his tattooed bicep. “If I had, would have, could have, should have-” Jos’ eyes are captivating as he talks, usually the colour of a calm sky, now look like the centre of a hurricane. _The calm after the storm, sure. But also the calm before the tempest._ Joe almost feels inspired to go bat the super over by himself after listening to the conviction in his boyfriend’s voice. “Doesn’t fucking matter. You and me. We can do it. They trust us to do it. I trust us to do it.”

Jos holds out his hand at chest height, staring Ben down, even though the keeper is a few inches shorter. Ben shakily clasps his fingers and pulls their hands to his chest. “Then I guess I have no choice. Your first drink is on me if we win this.”

Jos’ eyes glimmer at him as the keeper raises an eyebrow. “When.”

Morgs looks between the two of them. Joe stands on the side, shoulders back, chest open, arms crossed. “ _When_ we win.” He clarifies, not breaking his eye contact with the blonde wicketkeeper. Jos smirks at him and puts on his helmet. The two batsmen tap gloves as walk out into the middle.

First ball from Boult, and Ben throws his bat at it, catching a thick outside edge. He guns it past Jos, who screams at him to keep running. 3. Three from the first ball. Okay.

Jos hits one into the outfield, but it isn’t placed well enough. Just one run. Ben is on strike. And as long as Ben is on strike, Jos believes.

He’s proved correct when Ben drives one straight between two fielders for four.

One from the next ball and Jos is back on strike.

He smashes his bat at it and runs. 2. One ball to go.

It’s perfectly straight, a brilliant ball really, but Jos knew it was coming, and grunts in satisfaction as he smacks the ball to the boundary for four, right between two fielders.

 _Fifteen off the super over._ Joe falls into Morgs’ side with a deep breath. The shorter ginger tells him to get ready to go out into the field, before seeking out Jof. Joe smiles at the kid (who looks utterly terrified), telepathically sending him all the ‘steel nerve and magic’ that he has.

The first ball is a wide, and Joe is so fucking thankful that Jos has the fucking gloves for this because he pre-empted that unbelievably perfectly.

The next ball is a smashing yorker, but somehow, they get back for two. Still, this is okay.

When Neesham hits Jof for six though, Joe feels his throat close in on itself, and he chokes on his own breath. Immediately, he turns his head to look for Jos. He finds himself doing that a lot these days. Anytime, anywhere, he feels unsure of himself, he looks for Jos. Jos, who still, amidst everything, looks calm as ever. Who is nodding at Jof slowly, mouthing ‘you’re okay, we’re going to be okay.’ There’s a shift in the young bowler’s demeanour immediately.

Joe takes that advice for himself as well.

Two from the next.

And two from the next.

And then one. 

And all of a sudden, it’s the final ball.

2 from 1.

2 to win the final. 2 from Martin Guptill’s bat.

It’s a fucking brilliant ball, which Guptill hits straight along the ground to Jase. Not a misfield in sight, as jersey number twenty throws the ball straight at Jos at the keeper’s end.

It’s also a fucking brilliant throw. It lands in Jos’ glove seamlessly, and he throws himself through the stumps. It’s out. It’s out, and he _knows_ it’s out.

 _We’ve won. They’ve_ done it.

He breaks into a sprint, chucking the ball somewhere into the sky and tearing off his gloves as Liam, Chris and Jase throw themselves at him. Morgs runs at them soon after, as Ben runs to Jof, who’s collapsed aside the pitch. Jos looks around for his boyfriend, who’s jumped into his fellow Yorkie’s arms with a fist in the air, screaming loud enough for all the cameras to pick up. Jos smiles so hard it almost splits his face.

He’s not jealous, not even a little bit, because he knows, he just _knows_ that Jonny needed that hug. That moment of pride with someone he’s comfortable with. He makes it a point to talk to the ginger wicketkeeper later. They’ve both had their struggles, but they know each other’s past confidentially, know what the other has been through, and witnessed each other at their lowest points.

Joe seems to notice Jos’ eyes on them, and jumps off his teammate, running to his boyfriend at full speed, before crashing straight into his arms and against his chest. Jos gives his brain about zero seconds to shoot down the idea it has just come up with. Actually, precisely zero seconds. As the rest of their teammates surround them, jumping into each other and encircling them, he cradles Joe’s face between his hands and slots their mouths together.

He kisses him. Right then and there, surrounded by all his teammates who are shielding them from the 30000 screaming people in the stands at Lords.

Joe’s hands find their way to the collar of his shirt, as he kisses his boyfriend back just as hard, the rest of the boys grinning and screaming and crying and hugging them so tight that it feels like they’re not going to be able to breathe much longer- although, possibly, _perhaps,_ Joe thinks, _maybe the kissing has a bit to do with that._

Jos turns to Ben, clutching the man against his right side, as he keeps Joe plastered to his left. “I told you, I told you we’d do it. I told you, you could do it. I’m so proud of you.” Ben kisses his cheek and shoves his face against Jos’ shoulder before they’re all taken by the screaming of the people around them.

It hasn’t exactly settled just yet. It feels _unreal._ They’re running toward the rest of their team on the sidelines, the coaches, their partners, family, friends who’ve come to see them. Jos looks absolutely _drunk,_ Joe looks _intoxicated,_ and they both look like they’ve been doing something they’re not supposed to be, cheeky expressions and guilty flushes high on their cheeks. 

Joe, who’s typically quite reserved when it comes to these things, doesn’t even seem to realise there’s a camera in their faces, as he clutches desperately at his boyfriend, unable to keep the expression of elation and pure ecstasy off his face. He’s got an arm wrapped tightly across Jos’ chest, and there’s no way it could be seen as anything but something that only lovers would share. Really, they should be more reserved, given that, you know, they’re not /out/ per se, but right now, all Jos wants to feel, is Joe’s arms around him, and the fucking trophy in their hands. Joe sobs in relief as they receive their medals, and Morgs is presented with the trophy. Everything catches up to him, and he collapses into Ben.

Jos throws an arm over Bairstow’s shoulder as the ginger throws a fist in the air. He looks over at his friend, who looks genuinely _happy. Happy and proud. Wicketkeeper’s_ union, it’s a fucking thing, in case you didn’t know. He turns to Jonny, and, as quietly as he can manage, says, “Jonny, your father would be so proud of you,” and that’s all it takes for the older boy to launch himself into Jos’ arms, crying into his shoulder. Joe watches from Ben’s side, tears springing to his own eyes as he’s squashed into a group hug with Adil and Chris and Mo.

Later, when Morgs is making his rounds with the trophy and getting pictures with every player, he spends a particularly long time with Jos. “Thank you,” is the first thing he says, and Jos almost bursts out laughing. God, he loves Morgs so fucking much. They have matching grins on their faces, and Jos is so _so_ _proud,_ of how far they’ve come _._

“Eoin, really? Your captaincy. _I_ should be thanking _you._ We should all be thanking you. You’ve done so well.” The way Jos says it, makes it seem like it’s a fact of the world. Eoin shakes his head.

“No. It’s a team. That’s what we do. But that’s not what I meant. I meant, for Ben. Earlier. Thank _you,_ Jos.”

The keeper’s responding grin is blinding, and he crushes his captain against his taller frame. Morgan wraps an arm around Jos’ waist, just as the blonde pours a bottle of champagne over his head. Joe, never too far away from Jos, has pressed up next to them, fingers gracing over his boyfriend’s bicep. (That photo, is now on their mantlepiece.)

Finally, finally, they’re allowed to be away from public eyes, all fifteen of them screaming into their changeroom at Lords, still reeling in the aftermath of what’s just gone down. Morgs hands the trophy to Jos, before jumping into Ben’s arms and kissing him properly, as the ginger shoves their captain against one of the lockers.

There are several whoops and catcalls, all of which are good-natured and endearing, and this team means the fucking world to Joe, almost as much as the blonde wicketkeeper he currently can’t tear his eyes away from. Someone makes a comment along the lines of “just _kiss him,_ Joey, what the fuck are you doing with yourself!?”

That prompts Jos to turn and face his boyfriend, who is now laughing his head off, looking utterly smashed, and decides right here and now, that this is his moment. This moment changes everything for him. Because in one hand, he’s got the 2019 Cricket World Cup trophy, and his other is entwined with Joe’s fingers. He knows that one hand holds something much more precious than the other.

If he had to make a choice, he’d give away every world cup, every trophy, if it meant that he could keep Joe’s hand in his forever. He tugs the younger into a messy and entirely too enthusiastic kiss, to which his boyfriend responds just as eagerly. Someone, he thinks it’s Mark, snaps a photo, and Jos stops kissing his boyfriend momentarily to yell “I want that photo sent to me!”, before Joe tugs him back to his mouth. He raises the trophy in the air as someone else snaps another photo, flash looking almost as bright as their futures together.

Yeah. This is the moment. This moment, where Jos is holding the trophy, with a hand intertwined with the love of his life, while he’s _kissing_ the love of his life, who is smiling into his mouth, and laughing in absolute ecstasy.

This is the one. He just knows. This is that moment.


End file.
